


Drawn Together, Torn Apart

by Neyiea



Series: Links of a Chain [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 14:38:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3071798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neyiea/pseuds/Neyiea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It seems as if they were destined to meet again, though not under circumstances that either of them would have wished for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drawn Together, Torn Apart

**Author's Note:**

> It may have taken me half a year (oh my god, how?), but I did finally write a continuation of Hello, Goodbye. Gosh, I love these guys. (Hopefully it won't take me another half a year to write more.)

It had not even been an hour after she'd guided a flock of dwarves through her bedroom window that her father had come home with a look on his face that most people would have mistaken for simply anger, but Sigrid and her siblings knew better. He's a worrier, he always has been, and the way his brow is furrowed and his lips are pursed means something is troubling him immensely. 

It hadn't taken long for them to discover what had their da in such a state.

The dwarves of Erebor had returned, had taken refuge in their very house in fact, and would be departing for the mountain come morning.

Bain and Tilda are young enough that they lean towards more optimistic thoughts, and Sigrid is glad for it, but in regards to herself...

Well, she may not be as grim-faced, but she is her father's daughter. Though maybe, just this once, it would not hurt for her to hope for the best.

There is some sort of celebration underway at The Master's, the muffled sounds of a merry gathering infiltrating their home. There will probably be music and dancing, and he will be wanting to show-off his hospitality on such an occasion, eager to be paid back ten-fold for it in the near future. Their father would not hold it against them if they wanted to join in on one night of frivolity, but Sigrid, Bain and Tilda make no move to ask for his permission to go out.

It wouldn't feel right to them, to take joy in something that is making their father so obviously uneasy.

So Tilda curls up in his lap and asks him to tell her about the first time he realized that he was in love with their mother. Bain sits down beside him right away, always eager to hear the tale no matter how many times it's been told, and even Sigrid pauses in her constant motion to let her father's voice wash over her and imagine what it must have been like to see a person and know, in an instant, that they were the one you were meant to be with.

Her fingers flex at the remembrance of a touch, and her cheeks grow warm.

Tilda soon falls asleep and Bain dutifully offers to put her to bed. He picks her up in his arms, pausing only briefly when she stirs, and then makes his way towards the back of the house. Sigrid slips into the now unoccupied space beside her father, and she lays a hand against the crook of his elbow.

She hesitates to ask him why he's so uneasy, because the answer isn't hard to guess despite the fact that the dragon has not been seen since before her father was even born, but his other hand comes to rest on top of hers, and he speaks without any prompting.

"There was a prophecy spoken long ago. I'd forgotten about it, until it was too late." He sighs and Sigrid leans her head against his shoulder.

"And you think it will come true, the prophecy?"

"For all our sakes, even that of the dwarves, I hope not. There are some in their company who seem too young to be part of an expedition where the most likely outcome is death." Sigrid does her very best not to go rigid, and her father continues. "One of them, the one who'd been wounded, he does not seem like he would be much farther along than you in maturity, though he is likely older than I."

"Kíli," she murmurs, "his name is Kíli. Do you-- do you really think they'll all meet their end in the mountain?" 

"Who can know for sure?" He turns and presses a kiss against her temple. "I feel I've spread my somber mood around enough for one evening, I'm sorry for making you worry, Sigrid. Maybe it's best we follow Tilda's lead and turn in early tonight."

They stand, and she hugs him tightly before he can step away. 

"Goodnight, da."

His arms wrap around her, and Sigrid wishes for a moment that he could feel as safe and secure in her arms as she feels in his.

"Goodnight, Sigrid."

She goes to sleep brushing her fingers over the knuckles of her right hand and thinking of unfathomable blue eyes, and she wakes up to the faint sound of music and cheers.

They're gone, then. Off to face a dragon which may or may not be dead, and perhaps they will return.

Perhaps they won't.

Sigrid bites her lip and resolves not to think about the uncertainties of the future. Only, she does hope that they succeed; that they take back their home and re-build their kingdom, that they make a happy ending for themselves that surpasses the ones in the tales her mother used to tell her.

And in the back of her mind she admits that she would like to see Fíli again, though even the thought of it has her flushing enough that Bain worriedly asks her if she's feeling alright.

In the end it seems as though they're destined to cross paths once more, although it is not under circumstances which she had imagined. Kíli is sick, looking even more wan than he had the previous day and unable to stand without help, and her father isn't in the habit of withholding aid even when he's mad.

She's not sure what she can do to help, all too aware that the colds, fevers, scraped knees and shallow cuts she's tended to throughout the years have hardly prepared her for dealing with an injury of this magnitude, but her da keeps a level head. He lists out what they have, asks what they need, makes sure they have enough room to work with.

Then the tremors start, and the night deteriorates. 

Later, she will attempt to remember everything in detail only to find that it has all blurred together. There are orcs, then elves, then she is holding Kíli down and her eyes catch Fíli's for just a moment and she feels herself freeze up because _if this were Bain or Tilda lying on the table she'd be breaking apart_ , and even when Kíli wakes up again there is ash and fire and ruin--

Fíli reaching out for her, saying, "take my hand," as they attempt to escape the burning husk of the only home she's ever known.

\-- and a black arrow shooting across the sky.

Tilda is nearly inconsolable, quietly sobbing into the crook of Sigrid's neck. Sigrid herself isn't much better off and, though she tries to stay strong for her sister, her heart breaks a little every time Tilda asks whether anyone's spotted their father or brother.

It breaks even more when, even after casting looks around, everyone stays silent.

When the shoreline finally comes into sight, the boats of other survivors haphazardly pushed up into the sand, she feels a hand settle on her shoulder.

"Sigrid," Fíli whispers, though he seems unsure how to continue when she glances back at him, and his hand drops away. "It..."

It wasn't supposed to be this way. This wasn't supposed to happen. Her heart aches at his expression, and she wishes there was something she could do to make light of the situation.

But there's not.

"Will you be going to the mountain?" She asks before he can say anything else, because she thinks any expression of guilt on his part will only make her want to cry for him as well.

"Yes. I-- all of us," he adds, after a glance to his companions, "have family in the company that left for Erebor. I have to see if they are-- I need to know if they--"

Perished in dragon-fire, just as her father and brother may have.

"I hope that you find them," she tells him sincerely and, while he doesn't smile, the worry lines that had been etched around his eyes and mouth soften.

"And I wish the same for you."

The bottom of their boat rasps against the sand as they reach the shore, and there is no time for goodbyes between them, not now. Instead she and Tilda disembark immediately, desperately searching through the ever-growing crowd of people for a sign of their missing family.

Any semblance of control she has washes away when she spots them.

Her father's arms are warm as he encompasses them all, and it is only after she has reassured herself that they're alright, her home may be gone but her family are hale and whole and here with her, where they ought to be, that she glances back over the water.

The boat is just a spot on the horizon, far out of reach.

She really does pray that, despite the odds, the dwarves are able to find their kin in the same state she found hers. She watches the boat fade out of sight, sending them all the optimistic thoughts she can manage, before she turns her attention back to her own flesh and blood. 

There's a small part of her that wonders if Fíli ever looked back at her as he was rowing away with the others, and she brushes her thumb over the knuckles of her right hand before shaking those thoughts away. She's physically and emotionally exhausted, wrung out like a dish-towel, but that's no different from anyone else, and there's work to be done.

She does what she can to help those around her, and tries to ignore the way her hand seems to tingle every so often, as if it was still being held by a larger, gentle one.


End file.
